


The Coincidence?

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-23
Updated: 1999-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-10 10:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11125638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: A serial killer's actions bring grief to someone at the Consulate.





	The Coincidence?

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Coincidence?

Well, here is my third story. I wrote and wrote until, finally, I couldn't write an ending. So I gave up and decided to post. This is set in a post-ATQH Due South universe. For inspiration, I must thank Charles Dickens (specifically for A Tale of Two Cities), Reader's Digest (February 1996 US edition; as Red Green would point out, I have nothing to say <g>); my friend Darren R., and (most of all) the Smoky Mountain Knifeworks catalog. There are a few things I picked up that were inspired by posts from the DSOUTH-L list; if you see an idea of yours, e-mail me so I can give you credit, thanks, etc.

****Rating: PG-13** for violence in some detail**

**Disclaimer:** Most characters belong to Alliance, etc. I am just borrowing them. Also, I am creatively unable to write believable Fraser dialogue. This story is very weak on Ray sections somehow. I cannot write a story without creating a background for Thatcher. The word 'approach' in its various forms is used far too many times in this story. Beware, o ye of the squeamish demographic and those who detest sappiness! There is room here for a sequel and/or epilogue, which I may or may not write; I would love to work in Fraser Sr. somehow. Yes, I do know too little about Hamilton history but love it just the same. I haven't lived in Illinois for a long time, so my knowledge of Illinois culture is very foggy; let me know my mistakes!

As always, comments/criticisms/confirmations-of-reading are encouraged and cherished.

Kyla Gurganus (gurganus@emuvax.emich.edu)

# Coincidence?

"Vecchio, can I see you in my office?" Lt. Welsh was not asking. Ray could sense it. Everything had been tense around the precinct for the last two weeks. Bodies had been turning up in a normally quiet neighborhood every two or three days - six bodies in all - with absolutely no clues, leads, or suspects. No strands of hair, no fingerprints, no footprints, no witnesses. The body would just end up lying on the sidewalk at 6 am, face up, with extreme bruises all over, and with a knife in the stomach. The knives were unusual, with their blades in an S-like shape and with wooden handles, but no one could place them. Any identifying marks seemed to have been removed from the knives before they were used. The victims were very dissimilar, too - several ethnicities, young and old, men and women.

Ray quickly got up from his desk (as quickly as one can move on a Monday), where he had been trying to eat a quick lunch between catching up on two cases he was going to be testifying on soon. Louise had given him the ultimatum a week ago but, in classic Ray fashion, he had just taken his first glance at the paperwork.

It was not the expected empty office that Ray walked into. Detective Jack Huey was already seated. Huey looked as displeased as Ray felt. Welsh took no notice.

"Have a seat," Welsh said. As soon as Ray was seated, Welsh started. "The mayor has, as you both know, now placed high priority on the local murders. I am placing both you, Detective Vecchio, and you, Detective Huey, on the case. You will put aside anything else you are currently working on and focus entirely on finding the person or persons responsible."

Ray started to say that he had court time to prepare for, but Welsh was already on step ahead of him. "The State's Attorney has notified me that you must be in court both tomorrow and next Wednesday, Vecchio, but that leaves you plenty of time to find this guy. Go."

The door was quickly shut behind them as Ray and Huey exited.

"Well, this is just great! They've had tons of guys out there, combing the scene, combing the neighborhood, searching for this scum, but nothing. Nothing. And he thinks tying up two more detectives is going to make a difference?"

"And you don't think we can solve the case, eh, Vecchio?"

"Uh, uh, I didn't mean that. No, you and I can probably show those guys a thing or two, well at least I can." Ray got a deserved smirk from that one, but continued. "So shall we get started?"

"What's this we, Ray? I don't remember Welsh saying we were working together."

"But Jack, we can at least drive over together. Start it off with some class by showing up in a classic, a Buick Riviera. On the way, I'll give you some pointers on where to start..."

"Pointers, Ray? Yes, I'll need you to point out the ways not to conduct an investigation."

With that, Huey bumped past Ray and headed out to the Riv.

"Oh, this is going to be lots of fun," Ray said sarcastically as he grabbed his suit jacket and keys and headed out of the station.

*****

They spent several hours walking around, familiarizing themselves with the neighborhood and the key spots of the case: the points where the bodies had been found and the homes of the victims. Questions were posed to everyone Ray and Huey saw, but little was learned. No one seemed to know anything. They truly didn't seem to have a clue on what was happening. Because of all the murders, police presence in the area had become more pronounced, but most said it wasn't going to help if the murderers returned.

The neighborhood was a mixture of storefront businesses, a few restaurants and party stores, with some old apartment buildings and houses. An elementary school and tiny playground with basketball court completed the look. Most everything seemed run down and decaying, more people leaving than moving in; even a couple of burned-out buildings dotted the landscape. It was quiet because there was supposedly nothing anybody wanted there. That was why the series of homicides seemed so shocking.

It was nearing dark as Ray and Huey passed Mark's Party Store on their way to Szechuan-to-Go for some take-out. The lights were still on in the store, so Ray said he was heading in to see if he could get some coffee. Huey said that sounded good to him, so they both went in. The bell on the door clinked as they adjusted to the new surroundings. Shelves of food were to the left. The walls were lined with cooler cases filled with drinks. The counter was to the right, with candy all across the front of it and cigarettes above it. Behind the counter was a little African-American girl wearing a light purple flowered dress.

"Hey, got any coffee?" Ray called to her.

"Sure, in the back. Help yourself," she answered. He and Huey both poured themselves a cup apiece and moved back to the counter to pay.

"That's a dollar," she said. Ray dug into his pocket and handed the money to her.

"You work here?"

"Yeah. It's my mom and dad's place."

"You know you shouldn't be selling alcohol and cigarettes. You're too young."

"You've seen me doin' that? When? And even if you had, what are you gonna do? Lock me up for trying to help my mom keep the business going? You think we're gettin' tons of people in here now with all these bodies showing up? And look at you two. I'm selling coffee to cops to keep food on the table. Things are not going well, no sir."

"So how did you figure it out that fast?" Huey asked.

"I heard that some cops were snoopin' around today, and we don't actually get a lot of tourists in here. It's been four days since the last body. Reporters stop coming around after about two days. So I guessed and I was obviously right. But I don't have time to sit around gabbing with you; we just got a big delivery and I've gotta start stocking. If there's anything you wanna ask, either buy something else or come over here while I open these boxes. If we get robbed while you're here, it'll be on your heads."

She walked over to three stacks of boxes, each about a foot over her head. She drew up a stool and took the top box off the stack.

"Wow, you're strong for a little girl," Ray said with wide eyes.

"Yeah," she said, huffing as she carried the box over to behind the counter, "carrying stuff day after day will do that to you. But I'm not little. I'm twelve and gettin' taller by the day."

"So what's your name?" Huey asked as he watched her reach into one of the deep pockets in her dress and draw out a knife. She sliced through the tape on the top and sides of the box and opened it to discover bottles of cheap wine.

"Ugh. More of this stuff. I can't get rid of it. No one wants it," she said as she grimaced. But neither Ray nor Huey heard a word of it. Their eyes were too wide with what she held in her hand. It appeared to be the exact same knife that all of the murders had been committed with. Quicker than quick, Huey reached forward and took hold of her wrists. Ray reached out and grabbed the knife that she had put down while she'd examined the contents of the box. On her face was a look of pure terror.

"Don't kill me!" she screamed as Ray raised the knife.

"We're not going to hurt you. Don't worry. But you must know about...what was your name?" Huey asked in a tone that said he meant business.

She was still worried as she whispered, "Leah. Leah Mark."

"Well, Leah, you must know that this is the same type of knife that has been used to kill six people in this neighborhood. How did you get it?"

Feeling a little safer and bolder, she said, "Yes, I know, but it's not the same. Look closer. See, look at the handle. My name is inlaid into it in darker wood. See the 'Leah'?"

"Still, it's the same except for that. You've got to tell us where you got it," Ray said emphatically.

"No I don't."

"Yes, you do," Huey said as he tightened his grip on her wrists.

"Ow! Stop! OK, OK. It was a gift from my dad for Christmas."

"Do you know where he got it?" Ray asked.

"No, duh! It was a gift! You don't ask where you get gifts from. Well, at least I don't."

"Well, then," Huey countered, "we will have to speak to your dad. Where is he?"

She didn't answer, turning her head away from them. Huey pressed again. "Where is he?"

"In jail."

Just then, the detectives turned to the door, on which a person was banging with both fists, obviously wanting to be let in.

Leah's face changed immediately, from slight fear to deliverance. "Michelle! It's Michelle! Let me let her in."

Huey did not release her wrists. "Who's Michelle?"

"She's my best friend. She picks me up every night after she gets off. She and her boyfriend and I all go to the park down the way. They have trees and benches and swings and trails and birds."

Ray moved to the door and looked out. Before him was a pretty, tall (around 5'7"), white girl with dark, shoulder-length hair, maybe twenty years old or so, with an oddly-familiar face. She continued to bang and yell, so he let her in and closed the door behind her.

"Leah, are you okay? I thought you were being robbed, so I had the guy next door call the police. Please don't stab her!" she begged.

"We are the police," Huey said, finally letting Leah go. Ray took out his phone and called to let the appropriate people know it was a false alarm.

"Oh," was all Michelle could say. Then, she moved to Leah. "More about the murders, eh? Well, are you ready to go? Your mother should be down soon."

"I've got these boxes to do before I go. Wanna help?"

"Sure. I guess I should get used to it, since I'll soon be working for you, Leah," she said with a smile. Ray and Huey left with a tinkle of the bell on the door; the girls continued to tear into more of the boxes and chat about everything but the cops.

*****

Ray was giving Fraser a ride home in the Riv. The traffic was pretty bad and Ray was a bit on the agitated side.

"You know, Ray, this knife is hand-made. Very superior quality. The wood inlay work is beautiful, but the blade is especially fine. I've rarely seen its equal."

"Yeah, yeah Benny. Boy, we were lucky to find that one. Jack and I are out to talk to this Mark guy tomorrow. I only hope it's not that little girl's dad who's masterminding all this. She seemed like a real smart little girl. Pretty too. But havin' a dad in jail can't help ya any in life."

"True, Ray. But I just cannot believe that no one knew where these knives came from."

"All the stores were checked. I remember, because that was my first question when I saw a picture of the knife after that first body was found. But no. They had guys check all over the Chicago area at the gun and knife stores, the flea markets, the craft shows, the streets, and even put it in the papers to see if anybody had seen them. But nothing yet."

"Let me know if you hear anything about the knife. I'd love to help anyway I can."

"Well, Benny, so far there's been nothing to lick other than this knife. Nothing to smell, nothing to taste. But when I get something, I'll give you a call," Ray said, chuckling to himself.

*****

It was the next day at the precinct. Ray and Huey had had Elaine working overtime to find out everything possible about Leah's father. Nothing else had come up to help, so they were focusing all their energy on the knife.

"Ray, I think I will skip the little chat with Leah's father and concentrate on a stakeout of the neighborhood tomorrow night, maybe for a couple of nights."

"Not a fan of jails, Huey? Come on, you're a cop. Don't give me that," Ray teased.

"Ray, it's not as bad as you thought," Elaine said as she slowly approached his desk. "He's only in for too many DUI convictions, not anything sinister. Shouldn't be too bad." She handed a folder on him to Ray.

"Thanks Elaine, you're a gem. Well Jack, says here his name is Lester Mark, 34, and that he's had his liquor license for that store for about six years. OK, I'll take the jail while you take the stakeout. Who's going with ya?"

"I'll take Harrow. She's new and needs the experience. Plus she's hyper and will keep me awake if it's a slow night and I start to slip off."

*****

Ray was face-to-face with Lester Mark, Leah's father. He was a big, hulking figure, extremely tall and muscular. It didn't appear that he was going to be very cooperative. They were in a stark room, containing no windows, one table, and two chairs.

"Well, whaddya want?" was what Ray was greeted with.

"Lester Mark, I met your daughter yesterday."

Lester's whole body language changed instantly. "Ha! How's Leah? I've really missed her. She never comes to visit me. A letter or two, but nothing else. How's she doin'?"

"She's fine. But what I'm here to talk to you about is a certain knife that Leah says you gave her for Christmas. I need to know where you got it."

"What, that knife? Oh yeah...Rachel and I...my wife's name is Rachel...were out at a church bazaar last November. There was a little table in the back with a young guy who was selling these personalized fancy knives. He had lots of names and designs, but not Leah's name, so I asked him if he could make me one before Christmas. Leah's a hard worker, she's been helping out in the store for a couple of years, and I wanted to give her something really special. He told me that he didn't make them, but that he could special order one. Only 40 bucks, including a personalized leather holder. And promised to be delivered to me by December 20th. So I gave him the dough and he delivered. She was smilin' ear to ear when she opened it. Carries it with her all the time."

"A church bazaar? Do you remember which one?"

"Uh...let me think. Yeah, it was the Baptist church. The Baptist church, couple of blocks from the store, maybe ten blocks."

"You're sure."

"Oh, I'm sure. Rachel loves to go to them bazaars, but she knows I really hate 'em, so I only go with her to a few a year. That just happened to be one of them and the only time I bought something. I'm 100 percent sure."

"Can you remember anything about the guy, other than that he was young? And how old do you think he was?"

"Oh, he was a white guy, I remember that for sure. But I can't picture him. I guess I'm not real comfortable in those craft show type things, with all those old women around. But he was white. In his twenties, probably. But there was something, something that I thought stood out about him...what was it? I know I know it...oh yeah, he had a tatoo."

"Can you describe it, anything about it at all?"

"I remember it had something to do with Canada. Maybe a Canadian flag or something? I remember I asked him if he was a hockey fan, 'cause me, I definitely am a fan of the Detroit Red Wings since I grew up in Detroit. So I know a Canadian flag when I see one. He didn't seem to want to say much, as I recall. But he was friendly enough so I didn't care. I was ready to get out of there anyway."

"Was he tall? Hair color? Clothes? Anything else?"

"No, I'm drawing a complete blank. Sorry."

Ray rose and extended his hand. "You can't imagine how much of a help you've been, Mr. Mark. I'll tell Leah you'd like her to get in touch with you."

"Thanks, man. What's this all about, anyway?"

"There have been some murders in the neighborhood around your store, where the bodies have had those kinds of knives sticking out of them when they've been found. Another detective and I were getting some coffee at your store when we saw Leah's knife, but she didn't know where you'd gotten it for her."

"Oh. Do you think she and Rachel are in danger?"

"As of right now, I have no idea. The police have no suspects. This knife thing is the closest anybody's come to a clue, I think."

*****

As Ray headed to the courthouse, he called Fraser on his cellular phone. After a couple of rings, the phone was picked up.

"Canadian Consulate. Constable Benton Fraser speaking."

"Hey Benny, it's me again."

"Hello Ray! I was going to call you later. If you can, I would really appreciate a ride home this evening. You see, I need to pick up one of my uniforms from the cleaners..."

"Sure, what would my life be like if I ever said no to you, Frazier. But I have news. You'll never believe it! The little girl's knife was picked up at some kind of Christmas craft bazaar at a church down the street from her store. Last November. A place nobody would've ever thought of!"

"Really. So you were able to identify the knife vendor?"

"No, just my luck, I've got a case in court today. I'll probably head there afterwards, or maybe early tomorrow. Leah's father gave me a basic description of the guy, so at least we've got something to go on."

"Ah...", Fraser said, but was interrupted by a whining Dief.

"What was that?" Ray asked.

"Pay no attention, Ray. Diefenbaker is sitting here whining that it's past lunchtime already. Where is this church, you say?"

"Supposed to be about ten blocks from Mark's Party Store. A Baptist church. I don't know the name, since I just got out from talking to the Mark guy."

Diefenbaker continued to plead with Fraser, to no avail. He was being ignored. "When do you expect to be finished in court?"

"Knowing Louise, she'll keep me up there on the stand until I'm hoarse. But I really don't know. So I'll see you tonight."

*****

After stopping to get something for lunch, Fraser and Diefenbaker set off to find the church. It turned out to be only eight blocks away from the store in question. Very old, built in the 1930s, but still in good repair. The wooden front doors were locked, but there was a sign indicating an intercom to be used in order to be admitted. Fraser pressed the button of the intercom and spoke.

"Hello? This is Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I am here in an unofficial capacity but wish to see someone about a Christmas bazaar that was held at this church last November."

A gasp was heard, then a thin voice. "I'll be up in a minute. Just wait."

He waited. Finally, the door was being unlocked. It was then opened slightly as a white-haired, short, African-American woman opened the door. Once she sized him up, she opened the door fully, only to shrink back again. "He'll have to stay out; I'm allergic to dogs."

"He's a wolf, actually."

"Well, I'm probably allergic to them, too, so he stays, understand?" With that, she quickly ushered him in, leaving Dief looking lonely on the sidewalk. "The Christmas bazaar, you say? What is it that everybody wants to know about that today? Here, follow me. I was just eating lunch with my granddaughter downstairs. Are you hungry? We've got plenty! Like red beans and rice?"

Fraser looked around. The church was fairly small and appeared to have two floors. Currently, he was standing in the foyer which led to the small sanctuary. He turned back to the woman. "Thank you kindly, but I just ate." He followed her down some stairs and through a hall that appeared to open to office space. And who sat there in the middle, at a small table covered with plates, cups, and eating utensils? Elaine Besbriss. Fraser was wide-eyed as he saw her and instantly looked away, back at the older woman.

"Ah, yes ma'am. A friend of mine found a knife supposedly purchased at your bazaar and is interested in the person who was selling them. That person may have been the perpetrator of a serious crime. Do you remember? Was it a member of your congregation?"

"Hmmm, let me see. Wait! First, let me introduce my granddaughter, Lainey. Lainey, come meet this gentleman. He seems to be after the same information as you. Maybe I should just say it once so I don't have to repeat myself. Here, come have a seat. She has been showing me the knife and filling in details to try to help me remember for at least the last fifteen minutes."

The woman ushered Fraser over to an empty chair before Elaine could stand and walk over to greet him. They looked extremely uncomfortable and avoided each other's gaze. When Elaine pulled a small notebook out of her purse, ready to write, Fraser also pulled pencil and paper out from somewhere in his tunic.

"I think I remember now, Lainey. A young guy came by when we were plannin' the bazaar, said he sold decorative knives to collectors and such. He paid the booth fee and agreed to give a portion of his profits to the roof fund, which is why we held the bazaar this past year. Did you ever make it, Lainey?"

"No, Grandma. I was working this year."

"You work too hard. But anyway, the guy did a nice enough job, sold a couple, he said, paid the money and all. His setup was a bit poor, though, just a card table. I haven't seen him since that Saturday. Not a member here, I'm sure, no."

"Do you keep records, ma'am? Would you have his name or address, possibly a phone number at which I...we could contact him?"

"Ah, no. I'm almost positive I wrote him down as 'Knife Booth' in the ledger. You see, I'm the church secretary and treasurer, so I keep track of those kinds of things."

"Could you describe him, Grandma? I might be able to get a sketch of him."

"Sure. Let me see...it's been awhile. He was real young. Tall, too. Strong-lookin' arms. White, with brown hair. I think he had a red tatoo on his arm. But wait, I'm rememberin' somethin'. Ralph, that's my husband, I know you know Lainey, but he doesn't, Ralph bought himself one of those knives. Why he did, I'll never know. Had a cross on the handle and John 3:16 inscribed on the blade. But I was horrified, havin' a knife in my house! You remember how crazy I got when I found out Johnny carried a gun and a knife to school every day! So I made Ralph put it up immediately in the box it came in. I haven't seen it since, thank goodness."

Elaine and Fraser went to work, trying to compile sketches of the man, continually asking questions to better their drawings. At the end, their sketches looked surprisingly similar.

"Do you think he would still have the box, ma'am? Would he mind if I...uh, we...had a look at it?"

"Oh, no. Here, I just live a few buildings down. Let me lock up and we'll head over."

The lunch was abandoned. At her apartment, she got out a chair, turned on the light in the bedroom closet, reached up into the back, and got down a cardboard box. "Here it is. Dusty, dusty. Well, at least he hasn't been gettin' it out behind my back. Musta been 50 bucks down the drain. But your Grandpa, Lainey, he's always been a spendin' fool, you know that. I keep up with the bills 'cause he'd just spend me outta house an' home. Always been the same, never changes. But he brings it in, so I guess I can't complain. Secretary work doesn't pay much, ya know."

She handed the box down to Fraser. Nothing was written on the outside. Inside, there was tissue paper, lots of it. Peeling that back, Fraser saw the knife. The handle was the same as Leah's, only with a cross inlaid instead of the name. Sitting next to the knife was a business card:
    
    
     
                    Karch Loxa Green
                Maker of Quality Knives
                 --- Jefferson Avenue
              Charleston, Illinois 61920
    

"Ma'am, do you mind if I take this card so I can contact Mr. Green?"

"Well, I wish ya wouldn't. Ralph would get kinda angry with me if he found out I let some stranger get at his knife. He'd notice the card was gone, he's that way. Even though I don't want it around, he's kinda possessive and probably wouldn't want me doin' this. But you look like a nice young man and I want to help you and Lainey however I can."

Fraser copied down the information, then handed the card to Elaine. "You've been most kind, ma'am. Thank you kindly." With that, he turned to leave, to find Dief, and to return to the Consulate. But Elaine caught his arm after reading the card.

"Are you going to give the information to Ray?"

"Yes."

"I'm headed back, so I'll give it to him when he gets back from court. But before you go, Fraser, you should know something."

"What, Elaine?"

She took a deep breath. "I know that man."

Fraser gave her a confused look. She continued, "We used to call him 'The Hermit' summers when I went to visit." She then turned to her grandmother. "Grandma, you know Cousin Juanita? Lives there with Shannon and Kelly in Charleston?"

"'Course I know Juanita. Been to her house tons of times. But I don't remember a hermit."

"But you remember Tim McQuesten, don't you."

"Surely. He has those cherry trees in his front yard. You all used to go and pick 'em off and he didn't mind."

"Well, Mr. Green lives next door to him. He always had a cat or two sitting on his porch. No car. We used to throw rocks at his cats..."

"Lainey!"

"Well, Grandma, we did. And sometimes he'd come out and yell at us. Then we'd run back to Cousin Juanita's. But one year I met him when he was out gardening. He was extremely nice, not the type of man that would kill anybody."

Fraser interrupted, "Then you must contact him, Elaine, to ensure justice is served and to learn more about the knives."

"He doesn't have a telephone. I know, because I wanted to call him and invite him to dinner one year, but Mr. McQuesten told me he didn't have a phone."

With that, Fraser looked stumped, lost in thought. Finally, he asked his mental question aloud. "How would one contact someone who has no telephone without travelling to their place of residence?"

Elaine let out an ironic laugh that her grandmother did not share. She slapped Fraser on the back and said, "Fraser! You call his neighbor and ask him to come to the phone!"

"Oh, of course! How silly of me."

"Yes, I agree. But I know Mr. McQuesten. Do you have an answering machine, Grandma?"

"No, not here, but we've got one at the church. It's next to the speaker phone that we bought for Brother Gordy when his arthritis began to act up. Why do you want an answering machine?"

"So we can record our call."

"Who are you going to call?"

"Mr. Green. Do you have Juanita's number, Grandma?"

*****

The three of them left and walked back to the church, only to find Dief growling at an older man trying to get near the door. Fraser gave a sigh and glared at Diefenbaker, who then backed off. The older woman stepped forward quickly to unlock the door. "Oh, Brother Gordy, I'm so sorry. Lainey and I were eatin' lunch down in the office, when this man arrived to help her out with some of her police work. There was somethin' I needed at home, so I locked up and we're just gettin' back. Hope I haven't kept ya long."

"No, no, Sister Elaine. This animal and I were just having a disagreement over whether I should enter the church or not."

They all entered and headed to the minister's office. There, Elaine first called her cousin to find Mr. McQuesten's number. Then she dialed the neighbor and set the tape running.

It rang four times before someone picked up. "Hello, this is Tim."

"Mr. McQuesten, hi. This is Elaine, one of Juanita's relatives from Chicago."

"Elaine...Elaine...I can't place you. She has so many people over there all the time..."

"You'd know me if you saw me, Mr. McQuesten. I used to always want to swing in your pink porch swing while I ate your cherries."

"Ah, that narrows the field. How may I help you, Elaine?"

"Well, I work for the police in Chicago now. Have you read of the serial murders here lately?"

"No, not really. I don't read much more than the local news anymore. Working at home keeps me pretty busy."

"Well, I'm afraid that Mr. Green, your neighbor, may be involved somehow with the murders. Is he home? Could you get him so I can speak to him?"

"Oh, you must know that Karch would never do anything against the law! He barely even leaves his yard! Has his groceries delivered and watches Sunday services on the TV! I try to get him to go for walks with me, but he even says no to that most of the time. But I'll get him so all this can be straightened out. Stay on the line. I know he's home; he was just out feeding his cats a few minutes ago."

The room was silent as they waited for Mr. McQuesten to get back. All eyes watched the second hand tick by on the clock on the wall. Then, they all jumped as a voice was heard again on the end of the line.

"Elaine, Elaine, are you still there?"

"Yes, Mr. McQuesten. I'm still here."

"Ha, ha! I haven't heard anyone call me that in years! But I got him. Here he is...Karch, here's the phone."

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Green. This is Elaine Besbriss of the Chicago Police Department. I'm sad to inform you that some of your knives have been used in the commission of some crimes in Chicago. Now, I don't believe you are involved in any way, Mr. Green, and I need to inform you that you don't have to answer any of my questions without first contacting a lawyer. Do you understand?"

"I have nothing to hide."

"Okay. Now, how often do you come to Chicago, Mr. Green?"

"I have not been to Chicago since 1981."

"I have in my possession a business card of yours that was found in Chicago today, supposedly distributed with one of your knives in November by a young man. I know this was not you, but do you know who would have been able to do that?"

"Yes, my nephew."

"Your nephew? Does your nephew live in Chicago?"

"Yes. He is a student at the University of Illinois-Chicago. One day, he is going to be a doctor."

"How do you know your nephew is the only one who would have given out the business card, Mr. Green?"

"He is the only person who would have them."

"How do you know that?"

"I only hand them out when I sell my knives. There are only two places I sell my knives: here in Charleston and through my nephew in Chicago. He told me that there was a good market for them there, so I sent him about thirty different kinds, with specific details on how to order special ones from me."

"What is your nephew's name?"

"Ken Campbell."

"Could you describe him?"

"No. I have not seen him in over ten years. He has brown hair, just like all of our family, or he did, unless he has dyed it. College students can be a little crazy, you know."

"Do you have any pictures of him?"

"Sure do."

"Could you fax one here?"

"Facts? What? Fed-Ex? You want me to send it Federal Express? I can do that."

Then they heard Mr. McQuesten telling him what about facsimile machines. "Elaine, I was just explaining to him what you meant. I have a fax machine here in my home office. If you give me the number, I'll fax the picture to you once he finds it."

"That would be great, Mr. McQuesten. The number of the police station is (312) 555-1212. Mr. Green, did your nephew send you an order for one of your knives with the name 'Leah' on it last year?"

"Yes. My neighbor before Tim was named Leah, so I remember the name. It was a rush order for Christmas."

Elaine glanced at Fraser; they exchanged a look and a nod, mutually acknowledging they 'had their man.'

"Do you know how we can contact Ken?"

"I have his post office box address around my house...somewhere. He's so far along, he doesn't live in the dormitories anymore, but in an apartment of his own. I'm so proud, as you can imagine. He's my little sister's only son. I never got married, so I've always thought of him as my own. His box is one of those new-fangled private kind. Very ritzy, he says. Every time I ask him where he lives, what his address is, he always tells me that I need to send mail to him at his post office box. I'm afraid his apartment may not be in a good part of town. He may be ashamed to tell me for fear that I'll show up one day and ruin my impression of him. But that's just not so."

"Have you heard from Ken recently?"

"No, it's been about a month. He used to write me every two weeks to the day. I could mark my calendar by when I'd be able to open up my mailbox and see a long, white envelope containing news from Ken. But I haven't gotten one for a month now. I guess he's been extra busy, maybe recovering from final exams or something."

"Have you sent him any knives recently?"

"No, I sent him the last dozen about two months ago. The handles and blades were plain, which he said his buyers at that time wanted. Well, that's the easiest way for me, so I mailed them off and got the check about a week later. But I guess knife-buying is slow now. But it will be Christmas soon enough. Christmas is my best time."

"Well, thank you so much for your time, Mr. Green. May I get back in touch with you if I need any more information?"

"Oh, of course. If you see Ken, let him know I'll be expecting a letter soon. And tell him to call me."

"I will, Mr. Green. Could you put Mr. McQuesten back on the phone?"

"Yes, here he is."

"Mr. McQuesten, thank you for allowing me to speak to Mr. Green. I hope I won't have to call again, but if I do, will that be okay?"

"Sure, Elaine. I have voice-mail should you call when I am not home. Just leave a message. I'm more than happy to help to make sure nothing happens to Karch. Goodbye."

Again, Elaine took a deep breath as she stopped the tape. "I still don't think he's involved, but we should find this Ken Campbell. He may be behind it all."

Fraser nodded at her and bid farewell to her grandmother. Brother Gordy reclaimed his office. The two women returned to their table to finish lunch.

"So I finally meet the infamous Benton Fraser you're forever talking about, Lainey. Well, you're too good for him. You should let me find you a nice man, a good man, a man that can make you happy."

"*I'm* too good for *him*?"

"Not doubt about it. Look at you: smart, young, beautiful, good job, good family. You don't want a cop, Lainey. Always havin' to worry about him bein' killed, working too many hours, never home, no time for you. That's just no good. And cops don't make much, Lainey. You want a guy with a solid job, a solid income. Plus he's a foreigner! Wouldn't you rather have an American, a nice Chicago boy?"

Elaine was still stunned. Her grandmother took no notice as she ate the last bite of red beans and rice. "Here, give me a kiss goodbye, Lainey, and go solve all those crimes at your work."

*****

As he and Dief reached the second floor of the Consulate, Fraser was met with a displeased-looking Thatcher. "Where have you been, Constable?"

"Actually, sir, I was out to lunch and stopped by a church..."

"Well, while you were out praying or such, the person you were scheduled to pick up at the airport phoned. She waited three hours before taking a taxi here and is quite perturbed. I assume you will want to make your apologies to Inspector Hartfield immediately, in person. She is in my office."

He caught a smug look from Ovitz as he hurried into the office, only to be greeted by nothing. No one was there. Fraser returned slowly to Inspector Thatcher, looking confused.

"Inspector, there's no one in your office."

"Of course there is, Jes was..."

At that, a extremely well-dressed, attractive woman was making her way up the steps slowly, obviously winded. "Sorry, Meg. I heard someone calling for help and jumped down the fire escape. Gun shot in an attempted robbery. Called 911; she should make it fine. But he got away with three or four hundred. Guess I'm not as used to this on-the-street work as I used to be! That's what a desk job'll do to you. Fire escapes and these pumps do not mix, " she said as she removed her shoe and rubbed her foot. "Oh, oh, I'm sorry. I haven't had the pleasure." She extended her hand, with a big smile on her face, to Fraser. "I'm Inspector Jessica Hartfield. And you are?"

Fraser could not return her pleasing tone, remembering that he had forgotten to pick this woman up at the airport, but he took her hand and said, "Constable Benton Fraser, ma'am, but I must offer my deepest apologies about not recalling to collect you this morning."

"And who is this?" She leaned down and rubbed Dief behind the ears. When Fraser replied that his name was Diefenbaker, she smiled flirtatiously said, "What a beautiful wolf. That was you, the person who was supposed to pick me up? Oh, don't mention it. I got to know O'Hare a little better, that's all. The taxi driver was especially courteous and dropped me off here. So I've even gotten to spend a little extra time with Meg before I was supposed to arrive. I haven't made it to my hotel yet, though. Would you mind driving me there?"

"Not at all."

"Just let me get my bags. They're in Meg's office."

"No, ma'am. I'll get them."

Inspector Thatcher was obviously not pleased with the way Inspector Hartfield was looking at and acting towards Fraser. When Fraser had completely disappeared into Thatcher's office, Inspector Hartfield moved closer to her.

"Oh, Meg! Jealousy doesn't look good on any woman, especially you."

"Jessica Melissa Bergman, what do you mean, jealous! I don't know what you're talking about. Anyway, you should stop. What would Bert think?"

"Why you still can't remember that it's Jessica Melissa Hartfield now, after all these years, I'll never figure out."

"Maybe it was all that practice I had saying it before," she laughed.

"Plus you know exactly what Bert would think. He knows I'm one of the biggest flirts alive, second only to you, if you care to think back. Anyway, I'm just kidding! What it must be like to work with all these gorgeous guys..." She walked over to Ovitz and ran her finger down his jaw. "Let me guess, Meg. All married?"

Ovitz, obviously revelling in the attention, quickly replied, "Oh, no ma'am. We're all single."

"Ooh, single, gorgeous men surrounding you every day. It's I who should be jealous of you, Meg. Well, are we still planning on going out tonight? I'll be ready at, say, seven o'clock for drinks, then a night on the town. Meet me at the hotel, okay?"

At that moment, Fraser reappeared, precariously balancing a mountain of luggage. "Shall we?" was all he could get out as he motioned her to the door.

When they had left, Thatcher turned to Ovitz and said, "Get me an appointment at my hairdresser for this afternoon," and turned immediately into her office, slamming the door emphatically.

*****

Fraser was driving and Jessica Hartfield was in the passenger seat. The back seat was filled with luggage. "What a beautiful car. Much better than what I drive at home. You must get behind the wheel as often as possible."

"No, actually, ma'am. I don't drive much."

"Cut the ma'am bit, Constable. I'm off-duty for two glorious weeks, all starting today. Call me Jes. And I will call you Benton. Do you mind if I take your picture?" She pulled a camera out of her purse and proceeded to snap the photo. "When Elizabeth gets a look at you, she'll be surprised I was able to tear myself away from Chicago. You are one gorgeous guy. And I can't believe Meg lets you get away with wearing that red serge all the time!"

"Actually, she and I had some discussions on my choice of uniform when she first arrived at this Consulate."

"Stubborn as ever I bet." That got a smile out of Fraser. "I can tell from your face that she still is. I've known her for quite awhile now, and that stubbornness has helped both me and her along the way."

Fraser attempted to change the subject. "Is this your first visit to Chicago?"

"Oh yes. Originally, my family was headed to L.A. for vacation, but then my sister in Australia called, saying that her labor was going to be induced, well, what is now the day after tomorrow and that since I am her only family, she wanted me there for the birth of her first child. Bert told me to go, that he could take care of Vicky for a mere two weeks, that Elizabeth needed me more than he and Vicky and I needed to see L.A. again. So I've got tons of baby things with me, as many of Vicky's old baby clothes as I could pack. I know Elizabeth wants a girl. Have you ever been to Australia before, Benton?"

"No, never."

"Neither have I. But I'm looking forward to it. The States are where I really love to visit, though. Met my husband there, in L.A., if you can believe it. Oh, the beach life is the life for me. I was not meant for snow and ice. How long have you been stationed here?"

"Over two years."

"I think I'd really like a post here. Chicago seems to be a great city. Tons of things to do and see. And it's been so long since I've had any time to see Meg for more than a few minutes! She writes me every so often, but her letters are so sour. I guess we've just both gotten older. We were both so different years ago! I remember all those nights, out partying...she'd have two or three guys around her, I was so thin then that I could pull off the short skirt and bare midriff look...we'd stay out until all hours of the morning...but then I got married, and she got sour, almost bitter. Hey, I'm doing all the talking! So let's change the subject to you. Where are you from, Benton?"

"The Territories."

"Ah, so you've had a big change, too. Bigger than mine, I'd have to say. I was born and raised in BC, thought I'd go into broadcasting, but decided on the RCMP. My being trilingual helped, plus I was in fabulous shape; my mother was a marathon runner."

"Trilingual? You have very little accent."

"Why thank you! I've worked hard to make it so. Yes, I'm fluent in English, French, and Polish. My grandmother lived with us as I was growing up and refused to see me move on from grade school without speaking fluent Polish. I picked up the French in school, then. It certainly looks great on a resume. I'm now in the beautiful province of Quebec working a desk job that, as it was revealed to me with that little escapade I tried to pull today, has led me into neglecting my conditioning. A five-block run at full tilt left me almost winded!"

"So when do you leave Chicago for Australia?"

"The morning of the day after tomorrow. So I have two nights to be shown a good time. It was 600 dollars cheaper to fly here and then go on, with a two night stay, than to go direct. So I couldn't pass it up! You know, if Meg can't keep up with me tonight, I'd love a different companion for tomorrow. How about it?"

Fraser was turning extremely red. "Oh, come on. It would be fun. And don't worry. I'm happily married. But you look like a guy who knows how to show a girl a good time. I'll be up to my ears in work with Elizabeth and the baby, so I want to enjoy myself for at least a couple of days on what was supposed to be my vacation. What do you say?"

He cleared his throat. "I will have to..."

"Good then, it's settled. I'm sure I'll be around the Consulate tomorrow sometime, so I'll see you and we'll decide on everything. How much farther do you think it is to the hotel?"

"Only a few more kilometers."

"Good. I can get out of these travelling clothes, take off these shoes, and wash my hair. It's incredibly oily! Almost makes me want to cut it off. Oh, seeing Meg again makes me remember how long I've envied her for her hair. Me, I like my red hair, I like it long, but none of the guys I ever went out with did. In fact, I've gotten more comments from women that like my hair than men. When I met my husband for the first time, I had even died my hair black! No, I don't think it's true that blonds have more fun, but rather brunettes."

Luckily, they were just turning in to the hotel parking lot at that moment. "Here we are," he said as he parked and turned off the ignition.

"Great. Let me go pay and get the key. Would you mind unloading my luggage?" Before he could answer, she was out the door and gone.

*****

Inspector Thatcher sat impatiently at her salon, waiting for her stylist to finish with the appointment before her. Her foot was tapping; it was already five o'clock and her appointment had been for 4:30. Her mind began to wander to what she and Jes would do that night. No doubt they would head to a club where they would dance the night away, one or both of them borderline drunk, until someone called them a cab. They hadn't done that in years and she didn't know if she was up to it. But she was certainly going to try! On her bed, she had laid out a "little black dress" that was a little too short and a little too low-cut, just right to make sure she got a little attention drawn away from Jes.

Trying to get a mental picture of how she would look, she found her fingers tapping the arms of metal chair. To give her something to do, she picked up one of the old magazines sitting on the table and began to leaf through it. An ad featuring spaghetti (she was extremely hungry, having skipped lunch because she was expecting a big dinner out with Jes) caught her eye, but it turned out to be for some heartburn medication. She looked across to the opposite page, where she read:
    
    
              Sexual jokes should be avoided, as should comments that 
              are even slightly suggestive.  'It's hard to believe
    
              you're being taken seriously,' says Fisher, 'when a man 
              is saying how great you look in red.'
    

Well, that was all she needed today of all days, when her old feelings of inferiority to Jessica Bergman were resurfacing. She threw the magazine back on the table, crossed her arms, and finally decided to cancel her appointment.

*****

"Well, Bento, now that you've got your uniform, I need to stop off at some mail store Elaine gave me the address of. She said that this afternoon, there was a lead to the knives. A guy named Ken Campbell is supposedly the guy who has been selling them. They got a P.O. box number that was traced to a place a couple of miles from here. So she wanted me to check it out, throw my weight around, and see if we can get an address."

It was obvious that Elaine had not mentioned their meeting that afternoon. "Do the police have any idea what Mr. Campbell looks like?"

"Not much yet. Some relative of his faxed in an old picture of him, but it was really old, maybe ten years old. Elaine ran him through the computer, but he seemed to disappear a couple of years ago. He was pre-med at a local college, flunked some classes, and dropped out. Since then, no driver's license, no income tax, no car registration, no credit cards. She couldn't find any mention of him anywhere. She tried calling the parents but hasn't been able to get through."

They arrived at the store, only to find it was closing in five minutes. Ray rushed in, showed his badge, and was able (with a little arguing and some kind words from Fraser) to get the address Ken Campbell had given when he had paid for the box. Fraser once again took out the paper he had been taking notes and sketching on. He recorded all the information, including that Mr. Campbell had paid for the box for the year. Ray turned away, disgusted, as Fraser gave a "Thank you kindly" to the proprietor.

"What's wrong, Ray? Now you have Mr. Campbell's address."

Ray smirked. "It's gotta be this guy. He's one step ahead of us. That was a phony address."

"How do you know that?"

"The entire block of that street is old, condemned factories. Everything is contaminated. Nothing even grows there. It's all barricaded off, barbed wire and the whole nine yards. I've seen it used before. Obviously, those people didn't even look or they would have known."

They piled back into the Riv and turned back towards Ben's apartment. "Hey, by the way, Frannie's been pestering me to get you back over for dinner. How's tomorrow night sound? I'm sure she could force Ma to fix whatever you want."

"Uh...Ray, I may not be available tomorrow night. I may have been asked out on a date by Inspector..."

"Inspector Thatcher asked you out? Finally, The Dragon Lady makes her move. About time."

"No, actually, it was Inspector Hartfield, who is in town visiting Inspector Thatcher."

"Well good luck. You need to get out more, Benny."

*****

The stakeout by Huey and Harrow had been uneventful. The neighborhood was run-down but surprisingly quiet. Throughout the entire night, not a hooker, not a drug dealer was seen. The street lights kept the area reasonably well-lit. A few buildings obviously were holding parties that lasted well into the early hours of the morning, but there were no gun shots heard, just loud music. Harrow was struck by the almost entire lack of graffiti on the buildings. They stayed in the neighborhood, driving around, until just after six o'clock, when all the bodies had been found previously. Seeing nothing, they returned to the station to give their reports and to get some rest.

*****

Benton Fraser had not slept well, thinking about Ken Campbell, wondering about what had led him from what sounded like a promising career as a doctor to being somehow involved in these murders. It got to be six in the morning, so he got up, got dressed, ate a quick breakfast with Dief, and set out to find the address that Ken Campbell had given.

Ray was right. It was a very old three-story factory. All the windows were broken and much of the building appeared to be burned out. The remnants of barbed wire fences were strewn everywhere. The brick walls of the exterior had messages painted on them warning everyone of that the area was restricted, contaminated, condemned, and off limits. But one side of the building was still standing nearly intact. Fraser looked up at the top of that side and saw very little difference. Or did he. Upon closer look, he could see that the windows did not reveal black walls that had been charred, but rather they were covered with something black. Paper or fabric, he could not tell from the front sidewalk.

He had to know if this Ken Campbell was there, or had been there. Dief had wandered to the barricaded front entrance and tried to push it open, to no avail. There had to be another way, short of throwing a grappling hook up to the roof and entering through one of the open windows. They began to circle the building. On the back of the building, out of sight of the street, was another barricaded door. In fact, this door did not appear to have been tampered with since the building had been condemned. The wood planks nailed across the door had not been removed. Dief tried this door, too, and it swung open. He walked right in, but Fraser had to crawl under the bottom planks, which ended about three feet off the ground.

Once inside, Dief left Fraser to wander around. It was one large room, full of old, broken-down factory machinery. Trash, dirt, and cobwebs were everywhere, along with an awful smell that, surprisingly enough, Fraser could not place. Dief barked, signalling him. He ran over to find Dief on a set of old, metal stairs near the very back of the building, leading to the next floor. These had a metal gate across them to block use, which Dief had obviously jumped over. Fraser did the same.

Each step on the stairs made a huge echo in the cavernous building. Fraser prepared himself for confrontation, should Mr. Campbell be there, for he would certainly hear them approaching. The stairs led to another floor almost exactly the same as the first one, only darker because it had fewer windows. He and Dief searched for the final staircase. There was no metal staircase that they could see. They walked the perimeter, looking for something. And they found it: a camouflaged door. Fraser turned the knob slowly, not knowing what would greet him. Dief bounded right in and up the metal spiral staircase. Fraser followed, still curious as to why there would be a spiral staircase in a factory such as this.

They were greeted with what appeared to be an old floor of offices. They were in the middle, while all along the sides of the walls were rooms that would have been private offices. Here and there were old chairs turned over and a couple of rusty file cabinets. Wires were still sticking out of the walls. Fraser headed for the side of the building he had thought he'd see the black on, while Dief tried some of the other doors.

What greeted Fraser was totally unexpected. Yes, the windows in this office had been covered with black fabric, but a hole had been cut in the top of the side wall so that light from the next office lit the room; it was a corner office. But that was not the surprise. Inside, there was an apartment that put Fraser's own to shame. The walls were painted a light blue and covered almost entirely with posters from, of all places, Canada. Kerosene lamps were positioned around the room. There was a table with chairs and a bed, obviously slept-in, covered with a hand-made quilt. The floor was carpeted. On the end-table next to the bed sat an alarm clock and a framed picture of four regular-sized photos, each of a young woman and man sitting on a park bench, all smiles, one with arms around each other, one in a deep kiss, and the other two just of them looking deep into each other's eyes. Here was a couple in love.

A door had been cut in the opposite wall (from the one cut into for light) to lead to the next office. Here were clothes hung on racks, some women's, some men's, seemingly belonging to the couple. There was also a bookshelf full of books, a writing desk (which appeared to have been one of the ones from the center room just refinished), and a small dresser. As he moved to open the top drawer, he heard Dief and opened the next door.

What he saw was a truly gruesome sight. The man in the photo was lying there, dead like all the other six victims, in a pool of blood. The tell-tale knife stuck straight up from his chest. The room appeared to be a kitchen, with a camping stove and rows of canned goods lined on shelves, a cooler on the floor near the black-covered window. Somehow, "Oh dear" did not seem the appropriate response.

*****

At about the same time, Leah Mark heard her mother's alarm go off. She was too tired, so she just rolled over, but her mother began to shake her shoulder.

"Leah, it's time to get up. Come on, you've got to get up. It's a school day. And you've got your chores to do. You can have the bathroom first; I'll go down and make sure we haven't been robbed."

Rachel Mark watched her daughter roll off the bed and stagger to the bathroom. When she heard the sound of the shower, she put on her robe, grabbed the baseball bat she kept next to her bed, and slowly made her way down the stairs that connected her home from her store. When she saw nothing amiss, she went back up, got out her clothes for the day, and waited for Leah to finish.

Leah was dressed quickly and went to do her first chore, taking out the trash, which her mother let her do in the mornings because she didn't like doing it in the dark. They had a side door to the alley where they dumped their garbage, so she always tried to throw the bags out as quickly as possible to minimize her time in the dark alley. She gathered the bags, made her way down the stairs, took the key ring from her pocket, unlocked the door, and pushed the door open. But it wouldn't budge. She kept trying, to no avail. Something was in the way.

She put her knife in her hand as she made her way out the back door, around the building, and looked down the alley. It was still fairly dark, but the sun was up enough so she could see what was wrong. Leah heard herself screaming and screaming and running back in, up to her half-dressed mother, and screaming, "Mother! Mother! Michelle! They killed her! They killed her!" Then she dissolved into a heap of hysterical tears and screaming at her mother's feet.

*****

Everyone at the station was on their feet and busy. Two bodies found within two minutes, both beaten up and with the knives. Huey hadn't been gone more than ten minutes before the call from Fraser had come in. Then Leah's mother had called.

Fraser had specifically asked for Elaine, who was not there yet, but he had gotten Welsh. He had called from a pay phone about five blocks away, and within five minutes, police were there, combing the "apartment" and removing the body.

Rachel Mark's call had been to 911, so police arrived quickly, but no one at Ray's precinct heard immediately. It was then relayed in. Welsh called Ray at his home (waking him up) and told him to get over to the Mark place pronto. Huey was en route to his home when Welsh caught him.

*****

Ray had been told to wait for Huey to arrive at the party store, which he did impatiently. When Huey finally arrived, they spoke to several of the cops already on the scene, trying to locate the little girl. They were directed into the store and above to the living quarters. There, they found a mother comforting a still hysterical Leah in a bedroom.

Huey knocked on the door to announced their presence. Rachel looked up, as did Leah, but with unknowing eyes. Leah jumped from her mother's arms and ran to the policemen, beating her hands on their chests and yelling, "You let them kill her! You let them kill her! Why? Why did you let them kill her!" over and over again, moving from one to the other.

Huey took her wrists again and drew her into his embrace, slowly rubbing his palm over her back to try to calm her. Ray moved to the mother on the bed. "Who found the body?"

"Who are you?"

"I am Detective Vecchio and this is Detective Huey, Chicago PD." He flashed his shield. "We were in here two days ago, speaking to your daughter about the knife your husband gave her. We have been specially assigned to this case and need to hear some specifics."

Leah was a bit calmer, but not much. She had stopped screaming, but continued to cry and wail into Huey's chest.

"Leah, Leah, sweetie, do you know these men?"

"Y....eeee...sss."

"Well, I believe her, even in this state, so I guess I can trust you. Well, it appears that Leah had gone down to throw out the garbage as she does every week, she found Michelle's body, and came up here screaming. She hasn't stopped since then."

Both Jack and Ray looked visibly pained to hear that the person dead was the young woman they'd met the other day. "You're sure it was Michelle?"

"Yes. I went down to look to see what Leah was going crazy about. I saw the body, saw that it was Michelle. I threw up at the sight. Then I slowly made my way to the phone and called the police."

"Did you know Michelle? Anything about her? Where she lived, any family?"

"Oh yeah. She and my daughter had been friends for about a year. I don't let Leah go out alone, but one day she walked to the really nice park down the street without me knowing. The person who walked her back was Michelle. Somehow, they must have bonded or something, because Michelle has been back every night since then to take her to the park. Leah loved her like a sister."

"But did they ever go to Michelle's house?"

"No. Michelle is homeless."

"Homeless?" Ray looked back at Jack, not knowing what to make of it. The girl they'd met did not meet any stereotype of a homeless person.

Leah was trying to get herself under control, trying to wipe her eyes away, so she could say something. They waited. Finally, she said, "Yes, she usually sleeps in an alley a couple of blocks down when she's not at Ken's. I tried to get her to stay with me, but she wouldn't." She broke down briefly again, but kept going through the tears. "She was going to start working here next Monday...Mom had finally relented...but now..."

"Do you know her full name, Mrs. Mark?"

"Michelle Hepburn."

Leah started up again, getting louder. "And she told us to be careful, that there were two more to go. She said she'd been staying at Ken's every night, playing it safe, that she didn't want to be one of the dead ones!"

"Them?" Huey asked Mrs. Mark.

"The Dark Lords, the rival gang to the one here in our neighborhood. Michelle believed that all these murders were in retaliation to some...eight...drug dealers that the HYCs had killed over the winter for trying to deal around here. No one else thought so...but I believed her, that there were only two more murders, so Leah started sleeping in here with me every night since my husband is not in the home right now."

"HYCs? What is an HYC?"

"An HYC is a member of the local gang, the Honored Young Counts. They're one of those strange gangs. All their members get great grades in school, wear expensive clothes, never walk around in bunches or anything...but they all carry guns and know how to use them...and they don't take well to anybody invading this neighborhood."

"But she was protected! She said they always said so! She did whatever they wanted...all the time..." Leah let out a gasp.

"Do you know what Michelle did for them, Mrs. Mark?"

"She was a volunteer tutor every day at our school there. That was one of the reasons I finally decided to hire her. She doesn't have a diploma or anything, but she's great with numbers. She helped Leah go from almost failing math to getting straight As on all her tests this year. But instead of an hour like the other two tutors, the HYCs make Michelle sit at a special table in the cafeteria and stay there until any of them that need help get it. Leah told me that, one day, she went to peek and saw twenty of them lined up in shirts and ties, waiting for help from Michelle." With that memory, a smile came to Rachel's lips, but a tear came down her cheek.

Ray said smoothly, "I know this is hard on you and Leah, but we want to find who did this." He turned to Leah. "Now Leah, is there anything else you can tell us about Michelle? Could you show us where she lived? Do you know anything else about her? Do you know where Ken is?"

Huey picked the thin Leah up and prepared to carry her down, so she could show where Michelle had lived. She talked to him the whole way.

"Michelle was eighteen. I remember because she let me bake her a birthday cake on her birthday and my mom let me put eighteen candles on it...she was from somewhere far away, she said, but she would never tell me where or about her family or anything. But I didn't care. Oh, and Ken was her boyfriend. They really loved each other and were going to get married when Michelle was able to save enough after she started working for us...he had an apartment, and I could never understand why she wouldn't stay there all the time...but she wouldn't. I wonder if Ken knows yet..." and the tears started again.

Leah was able to point out where Michelle had last been known to live. They found a purse with some fake ID cards, some pictures of her and a man (whom Leah identified as Ken), a hair brush, a few scraps of food, some clothes, and several blankets, all arranged so they wouldn't be noticed by the average passerby. The police were able to get her fingerprints and hair samples from the few items. The fingerprints were later matched to those of the body.

*****

Ray and Huey returned to the station with more than enough information to wade through, but Welsh sent Huey home because he'd been up over 24 hours and could barely make his eyes focus words on a page. The name and picture (from those in the purse) of Michelle Hepburn had already been sent out; she'd also been run through various computer databases. It turned out to be an extremely quick search because a call came in by ten that same morning from a police station in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, identifying a girl missing from there for the last six years named Michelle Hepburn. The parents had been contacted, brought in, and had agreed from the picture that it was their daughter.

When Elaine finally made it in, she immediately called Mr. McQuesten and then Mr. Green to tell them that it appeared Ken Campbell had been murdered. The picture of the boy Mr. Green had faxed in had looked enough like the man to be a positive ID.

*****

Fraser had stayed at the crime scene far too long, trying to learn more about who Ken Campbell had been. He had neglected to call the Consulate, so he'd hurried over once he was able to get away from the condemned building. His watch read 10:30 as he opened the front doors of the Consulate. Dief ran ahead and settled himself under Fraser's desk. Fraser sat down to work.

Ovitz made his way over. "She wants to see you. Prepare yourself; she looks like she's ready to make heads roll."

"I'm sure she just has some things to brief me on."

"Uh huh. Right. She's been in there for over an hour and hasn't said a word to me. Building up steam, probably. I'm going out for lunch." And with that, Ovitz left quickly, giving him a "Don't say I didn't warn you" as he exited the building.

Fraser stood and walked to the Inspector's office door. He closed the door behind him approached the desk. Only Thatcher was on the phone, turned facing away from him. He could hear her crying as she continued to talk. She kept rubbing something over and over in her right hand; it looked like the damaged brooch he had retrieved for her some time ago.

Still unnoticed, he cleared his throat. Thatcher turned around suddenly. "Liz...Liz...I'm sorry, but my deputy is...here and I...need to give him orders so...I can leave. I'll call you soon...yes, I love you, too..." and she hung up the phone. Like a wounded schoolgirl, she attempted to dry her face with the sleeves of her jacket. It was obvious she was trying to get herself under control to speak to him.

"Sir, if this is a bad time..." He made a move to leave.

"No, Constable...it's just...I will be in and out of the...office for the next few days...I'll leave my itinerary with Ovitz should you...need to contact me...and my cell phone will be with me at all times."

"Is there anything I can do, ma'am?"

"No. No. No, I'll be fine." Thatcher was nearing the edge of how long she could maintain emotional stability, especially with him giving her a look of deep concern. "Dismissed" was all she could get out. He nodded and turned to leave, but turned back.

"You're sure..."

"Yes! Go! Do I need to throw you out?"

*****

Five minutes later, Thatcher had left. It had been a fairly awful day after that. Ovitz had decided to take the day off to go golfing, of all things, claiming he had had it planned for weeks. Amid a constant barrage of telephone calls, three girls had arrived to get information for a school report on Canada. And, naturally, when they expressed their opinion of the inherent inferiority of anything Canadian, Fraser had felt compelled to deliver a 45-minute lecture on the uniqueness of the Canadian culture and civilization before compiling packets of the information they had desired.

It was time for him to head home, but he was unsure of what to do about his plans with Inspector Hartfield that evening. She hadn't stopped by, as she'd said she would, so he called her hotel. She wasn't there. Dief barked, announcing someone's arrival.

"Ray, what are you doing here?"

"Just coming to see if you really were going on a date or if you were pulling my leg. And to bring Dief this." Out of his pocket, he pulled a glazed sour cream doughnut.

"You shouldn't encourage him, Ray."

"But it's fun!" Dief seemed to agree.

Fraser sighed. "It seems that Inspector Hartfield is not in. Would you mind driving me by her hotel?"

"No problemo, Bento."

They all three got into the Rive. "Watch the crumbs, Dief," Ray scolded. Fraser easily directed Ray to the hotel. When there was no sign of here there, he was extremely puzzled.

"Where can she be?"

"Maybe the Dragon Lady ate her."

"Now that's just not funny, Ray."

"Well, after the day I've had, I need a little humor. I must say my eyes have been opened. I have more respect for you, Fraser. I only had to deal with her for four hours all by myself today, and if it hadn't been for that friend of hers, I would have gone crazy! I mean, who does she think she is, wanting to see all the paperwork and reports, wanting to know every clue, every little thing about the investigation, even calling me 'Ray' constantly...I have to give anybody credit who can put up with that day in and day out."

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Ray."

"What?"

"I said I have..."

"I know what you said. But you mean you haven't heard?"

"Heard what, Ray?"

Ray ran his hand across his face and over his hair, showing his exhaustion and frustration. "Inspector Thatcher is Michelle Hepburn's aunt."

"And Michelle Hepburn is...?"

"The eighth victim of the stabbings. She was found a few minutes after you found the body of Ken Campbell."

"Oh dear...I didn't know..." Fraser turned and looked out the window, letting the words sink in, making sense of Thatcher's actions earlier that day. There was silence. The Riv was still parked in the hotel lot.

"Have they found any suspects yet?"

"No. Leah, that's the little girl with the knife, and her mother believe it's all gang-related, so we're checking that angle out. I've got the night off to get some well-deserved shut-eye. But the offer still stands if you're in the mood for a Vecchio- style dinner."

"No, thanks for the offer, Ray, but it's been a long day. Drive me home?"

"Sure, man."

*****

Huey and Harrow were attempting another stakeout, this time on foot. Huey was especially interested in the alley where Michelle Hepburn had supposedly lived. What did it look like at night? Were there others that lived there, too?

A few blocks down, another pair were on the same quest. Inspectors Thatcher and Hartfield were getting out of Thatcher's car and preparing to go over to the alley.

"And I gave up a night with Benton Fraser for this?" was all Jessica could say.

"At least you wore sensible shoes this time."

"Never say I never did anything for you, Meg, because this is way, way beyond the call of duty."

"Okay, whatever. Flashlight?"

"Check."

"Gun?"

Jessica hesitantly said, "Check."

"Then let's go."

The two women slowly made their way to the alley. The entrance was marked with "Crime scene - do not cross" tape, but they ducked under anyway. As they walked slowly, they heard other footsteps. Closer, closer. Suddenly, Jessica felt a hand on her leg and gave a small scream of shock. Their flashlights were instantly turned on to see who it was.

Inspector Thatcher was staring into the face of Jack Huey. "You look...familiar. Aren't you Fraser's..." was all Huey could get out before she interrupted.

"Yes, Fraser's boss. And Michelle's aunt. What are you doing here?"

"I should ask what you are doing here. This is a crime scene."

"And we are policewomen. I have a right to be here." But before anything else could be done, the sound of dogs growling was heard down the alley.

*****

Fraser was at his apartment, eating dinner with Diefenbaker, but he couldn't stop his mind from wandering to Inspector Thatcher. The pain she was going through, losing a relative that had obviously meant a lot to her. And she hadn't told him. Why not? He would have done all that was in his power to help her. But she hadn't even told him! Suddenly he got up, knocked Mr. Mustafi's door, and asked to use the telephone. She had said she'd have her cellular phone, so he called the number. It rang ten times before a recorded message said that she must have arrived at her destination or be out of range. He called her home number, which had been listed on the itinerary she'd left with Ovitz. No answer. Where could she be?

*****

"This better be good. I was asleep when you called." Fraser settled again into the passenger seat of the Riviera.

"Ray, I'm afraid Inspector Thatcher may be in danger. With her loss, she may not be thinking clearly and..."

"...you think she's out trying to solve the crime herself."

"Exactly, Ray. So if we can just find her..."

"And in this enormous city, that's a big 'if'..."

"If we can, the maybe we..."

"...you can convince her to let the police handle it. I told you, Benny, that that line didn't work. Believe me, I tried it over and over today. No go. But we'll try. I said I would, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did, Ray. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now where should we start?"

"Where was the body found?"

With that, Ray made a U-turn and started towards Mark's Party Store. When they arrived, Ray recognized Huey's cop car. Fraser picked out the rays of some incandescent flashlights ahead. Unannounced, he got out of the Riv, jumped onto the ladder up the side of the nearest building, and started climbing. Ray muttered under his breath and followed, knowing once again he would probably be roof-hopping against his will.

*****

"Meet Bony and Styx," a voice in the dark called to the four in the alley, "two of the meanest street dogs you'll ever see. They go for the jugular every time without remorse."

The face behind the voice stepped from the shadow into the light. Shoulder-length blond hair, an earring, and a tattoo on his right shoulder were the highlights of the young man before them. Thatcher shone her light on the tattoo, which was a red Canadian maple leaf with the word "VICTORIA" beneath it in black.

"Victoria?" she asked.

"No, Courtenay and Nanaimo," he replied, seemingly unfazed by her question.

"What are you doing here? This alley is off-limits," Huey said.

"I live here. Besides, you're all here, so it can't be too restricted," the man said with a smile.

Thatcher was unamused. "Who are you?"

"Ken Campbell."

*****

Fraser had just made it to the roof above when he heard the words 'Ken Campbell' uttered. He was instantly transfixed on the scene below, while Ray was a ways behind, still struggling to make it from building to building.

*****

"I'm here to protect Michelle's things. You see, I'm her boyfriend."

"Oh, then, I'm sorry. I'm her aunt."

"Really?"

"Yes. I just want to know what happened, how she got here, and who killed her."

"I don't know how she made it here, but I do know that when I met her, she was selling herself on the street in order to eat. And the Counts killed her; everybody knows that."

"The Counts?"

"Sure, the gang trying to take over this neighborhood. Look..." he motioned her to move the box next to her hand. Behind it was a crown spray-pained on the wall. "That's their sign, showing they're ready to move in. All these killings just show they mean business, that they're gonna get rid of the Lords once and for all. I told Michelle to be careful. She said she was protected. I guess she was wrong..." He seemed genuinely upset at the thought of her death.

From above, the four heard someone say, "You're not Michelle's boyfriend."

"Oh, and how would you know?" The young man looked up and around, wary and confused.

"Because Ken Campbell was found this morning, dead."

The man's face went white as a sheet, then he turned and ran back into the shadow. The dogs growled at the four there, stopping them from following him. All of the sudden, they heard the word "Dief!" being shouted from above and something large falling from the roof. Magically, Diefenbaker came charging down the alley, teeth bared and looking as ferocious as possible. Bony and Styx began to whimper; the four police officers ran past the dogs, only to find Benton Fraser holding the arms of the young man behind him. Ray was climbing down the ladder from the roof.

"Fraser! What are you doing here?" screamed Thatcher.

"Sir, I have only recently learned of your loss. Please accept my condolences."

"I meant, Constable, what are you doing *here*?"

"Well, sir, I tried to reach Inspector Hartfield at her hotel, then you at your residence and on your cellular phone, but I was unable to. I was worried that, possibly, just possibly, your grief could be getting in the way of your rational thinking and..."

"You're here to help me."

"Yes, sir, I'm afraid so."

Huey was more interested in the young man. "Who are you? Tell us!"

Fraser had not released his grip. The man asked forlornly, "Is Ken really dead?"

"Yes, I found him this morning in his...apartment."

The man had tears in his eyes. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this...they were just going to rough him up a bit, scare him so he wouldn't talk..."

"Who? Who was going to rough him up?" Huey demanded.

The man turned frantic. "No, you've got to get me out of here! They'll see me talking to you and kill me, too! Please..." he pleaded, "get me out of here! I'll tell you everything! Just get me out of here!"

*****

Harrow cuffed him and walked him back to Huey's car. Ray gave his apologies to Huey, saying he wasn't up to a night of interrogation, that he would see him in the morning, and then he headed back to the Riv. Huey then moved to the two women and Fraser. "Will you be coming to the station?" Two "no"s and a "yes" were heard.

"I'll be there when I've driven the inspectors back," Fraser said.

"No, Benton, I can take her home," Jessica said.

"This way is better. Let's go. We'll follow you," he said to Jessica as he took Thatcher's shoulder and began to lead her behind Jessica.

*****

"I'll drive. My flight is early tomorrow, as is Meg's. I know, but I'll sleep on the plane."

Jessica unlocked the four-door car and slid into the driver's seat. Fraser opened the back door for a listless Thatcher. She complied by getting in, no questions asked. He slid in next to her and closed the door.

"If you don't mind, I'll drive from here to my hotel...I can make it there, that's how we came...then can you drive Meg home?"

"I'll drop *him* off, Jes, and take myself home, thank you."

Jessica was not in the mood to argue, so she turned the key, turned the car around, and headed back. In the back seat, Fraser sat still, facing forward, but couldn't help glancing at Thatcher. She looked tired. Thatcher turned her head and their eyes met, hers stern and menacing, his soft and searching. A retort was on her lips, but she just couldn't give it. Her eyes and throat were failing her; she started sobbing again. Fraser reached to draw her close and she didn't protest.

"Good to see she has another shoulder to cry on. Mine is all worn out," Jessica said as she made a left-hand turn.

They stayed like that until they reached the hotel. Thatcher then got out with Jessica. "I'll see you at the airport, then?"

"No, Meg, you're worn out. Come here, give me a hug goodbye, and wish me luck in Australia. You just worry about making your flight in the morning. And you'll tell Liz and Phil how sorry I am?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I know you'd come if you could." Meg put her arms around her good friend, wishing Jessica didn't have to be in Australia the next day.

"Now you let Benton drive you home. I don't want to hear a word! Let him!"

"Bye, Jes."

"Bye, Meg. I hope I'll see you before it's another five years!"

Fraser had moved to the driver's seat while they talked, so Thatcher opened up the passenger-side door and got in. They were alone, which normally would have made her nervous, but as Jessica had said, she needed a shoulder to cry on, and the only one available was his. She moved right next to him, put her arms around him, and set her head on his shoulder, content to know there was someone there for her.

They drove along like this, again in silence. She was not even taking in the scenes around her; Thatcher was only thinking of Michelle and Jessica and how she would miss them both.

Fraser cut off the engine when they reached her apartment. Meg closed her eyes and tried not to move, not wanting to face the empty apartment that awaited her. But Fraser didn't seem in any hurry to leave. He took one of her hands in his and stroked her hair with his other one.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"Tell you what?"

"That your niece had died."

"It was none of your business."

She did not want to talk about it, but he tried again. "I could have helped you..."

Thatcher then turned her face to see his. Anger flashed in here eyes. "Helped me? Helped me? How? How could you help me get over finally finding my niece, who has been missing for six years, dead less than twenty miles from where I live? How can you help me deal with the fact that she was only eighteen but had already been...a..." she couldn't say it, "...in order to stay alive, to eat, when I've got more food than I know what to do with? And her face, did you see her face? She was the image of her mother at that age. I thought I was looking at Liz when they showed her to me..." She broke down in tears again.

After letting her cry for several minutes, leaning against him, he again stroked her hair and bent his head to plant a kiss on the top of her head. She looked up, with tear-stained eyes, surprised. Then he put a finger under her chin and raised it so they were seeing eye-to-eye. He lowered his mouth to hers and softly kissed her, slowly and quickly at the same time. He smiled, but she did not. He kissed her again and used his thumb to wipe away a tear that was rolling down her cheek. Fraser continued to smile and look deep into her eyes, but still she didn't respond. All she could think about was Michelle, how Michelle had suffered and how the pleasure she was experiencing now was somehow wrong. Michelle had faced her death alone and Meg would deal with it alone. All in an instant, Thatcher untangled herself from Fraser and said a terse, "Thank you...take the car back to the Consulate" as she exited the car. He sat stunned as he watched her walk to the building's door and then disappear inside.

*****

The questioning of the young man from the alley had not started when Fraser arrived; a lawyer was still talking to him. Fraser moved across the room to Huey and Harrow, who were speaking to Welsh.

"Detective Huey, have you learned any new information?" was Fraser's first comment.

Welsh turned from the two police officers to the Mountie. "Ah, Fraser. They told me you were somehow responsible for aiding in the recovery of the young man in that room over there, but I didn't believe it. Where's Vecchio?"

"I believe he is at home asleep, Leftenant."

"Asleep...and you are here because...?"

"I'm interested in what the young man has to say."

"As am I, Constable. Detective Huey here feels he may be the key to it all."

"I agree."

"We'll see."

The door to the interview room opened and the lawyer emerged. "We're ready when you are."

Huey and Harrow entered the room and closed the door; Fraser and Welsh observed from the hall.

"Now to get this off on the right foot," Huey said, "what is your client's name?"

"Al MacNab."

Huey then turned to Al and addressed all further questions to him. "The question I need answered is why you tried to make us believe you were Ken Campbell."

Al looked at his lawyer and then started talking. "Ken Campbell was my best friend. We worked together at a warehouse that offers no-questions-asked day labor. You show up, you work ten hours, they hand you some cash. Well, he was there every day, but me, I only came three or four days a week. He would tell me all about himself, about his life, and I would tell him about myself, just to help pass the time while we were working, lifting boxes and bags and such.

"They got to him through Michelle. They followed her to his place. First, the Lords came and forced him to give them some of his uncle's knives in exchange for letting her live. Then, when the murders started, he had to pay them to continue to keep her alive.

"She was marked from the first, though. Of all the people working for the Counts, Michelle was one of the most visible. She ran a tutoring program at the school over around the corner. Anybody could come to get help, to learn to read; she even helped a couple down the street learn English..." He sighed, remembering how pretty she had been, how helpful, and then continued.

"You've got to tell her aunt I didn't mean what I said. It was what I was told to say. In the three years I knew here, she was nothing if not totally devoted to Ken. The Counts kept her supplied with food and let her stay in their neighborhood in return for her tutoring them. Me, they only made me keep a job in order to stay there. They never worried about Ken because he didn't live around there.

Huey interjected, "You still haven't told us why you were impersonating Ken Campbell!"

"It was him or her, they said, him or her. And as much as I liked Michelle, I couldn't deal with the thought that I would be responsible for Ken's death. So I chose Ken. They told me he'd be roughed up a bit and moved for awhile...but alive. So, they sent me to a tattoo parlor to get Ken's tattoo." He pointed to his arm. "'The maple leaf for my country,' he'd always say, 'and Victoria for where I got my first and last tattoo.' I've never been there, but he had a poster of it that was beautiful. it's funny, he always wore sleeveless shirts to show off that tattoo. And every time someone asked about the Victoria part, he always replied, 'No, Nanaimo and Courtenay.' I have no idea what that means."

Huey glared at him enticingly, unamused. Al continued, "Yes, well, I was told to go to Michelle's spot and make all comers believe I was Ken, that Michelle was trash, and that the Counts were behind it all. But they killed him anyway..."

"What do you know about Ken's background?"

"He was from the west coast of Canada. Me, I was born and raised in beautiful downtown Chicago here, but he came about four years ago. He always told me that college was too much for him, that he dropped out, but the debts were so large that he couldn't afford to pay and live. So he started living on the street, if you can call that place of him 'the street.' I met him only a couple of months after he left school. Man, was he depressed! Always talking about what a disgrace he was to his family and such. Michelle changed him totally. I think from the day they met in that park that he didn't have another unhappy day."

"And Michelle? What do you know about her?"

"She was from Canada, too, but somewhere different. A couple of times I came over to eat with them, they'd just sit back and talk about how much they missed Canada. Me, I love America, so I always left when they got that going."

"Do you know how old Michelle and Ken were?"

"She was eighteen and he was twenty-two."

"And you?"

"I'm twenty-one."

*****

Nearly all of Al MacNab's story checked out, as far as they could tell. There was nothing they could really keep him for, so he was released. Throughout the next few days, the investigation turned to the gang activity of the neighborhood. The force's expert on both the HYCs and Dark Lords was called in, but she was able to tell them little that wasn't already known. The HYCs tended to be younger, topping out at about age twenty-five. Very few members had any kind of record at all; once a member got a record, he was forced into the background or cast out. The HYCs dealt more in petty crimes and protection money. As far as anyone could tell, the HYCs didn't engage in the drug trade. The Lords, the larger of the two groups, did. They were made up of both men and women, ages ranging from about fifteen to forty. Their 'turf' was one of the most crime-ridden in the Chicago area, even worse than Fraser's neighborhood, with bullets constantly flying. The color of the Dark Lords was black, which all members wore at all time.

Ray and Huey had been digging into the homicides of the previous summer, trying to find these eight murders that supposedly occurred on the Lords by the Counts. Al was no help in further questioning; to him, as to Leah, it was all hearsay. In the area considered under control of the Lords, twelve homicides had been reported the previous summer: all African-American, two of females and ten of males. The females had been sixteen-year-old twins shot by their father. Five of the male homicides had been 'solved,' while five had not. Of those solved, two victims were acknowledged members of the Dark Lords.

Huey felt a return visit to talk to Leah was a good idea. He and Ray showed up around four o'clock in the afternoon at the store, only to find Mrs. Mark working behind the counter.

"Mrs. Mark, may we speak to Leah?" Huey asked.

"Sure, she's upstairs in her room."

They climbed the back stairs and entered the only room with a closed door. Leah sat there, in a chair, staring out the window. When Ray spoke, she jumped, obviously startled.

"Hello, Leah. We'd like to talk to you again. Are you up to it?"

"Yeah."

"We need to know more about what you told us about the gangs. What do you know about the Counts?"

She stared out the window as she answered. "The HYCs run the show. They control everybody and everything." She sounded defeated.

Huey moved closer to her, trying to look at her face, to see her eyes, but failing. "Do they control you?"

She waited quite a time to answer. "Yes. Every Thursday, I pay the money. I can't sit on the left side of the lunchroom. The store can't open before seven or close after eight. When my dad gets back, we'll be expected to pay more because he's in jail for drinking."

"Pay? You pay these guys money?" Ray asked, surprised.

"Sure. They don't want us selling cigarettes and alcohol in their neighborhood, so they 'fine' us five cents on the dollar. Somehow, they always know exactly how much we've sold, down to the last can of beer."

"You said they come on Thursdays?" Huey questioned.

"A little boy named Jimmy T. from my class at school follows me home and picks up the money. We've never missed a payment and we've never been robbed or had a break-in."

"If we're here tomorrow," Huey said as he kneeled down next to her chair, "do you think we'd be able to get him to talk to us?"

"I doubt it. He's shy around me, and I've known him all my life."

"Do you think he knows anything?"

"Sure, his brother J.C. is one of the heads of the HYCs."

*****

Inspector Thatcher had only stayed away for two days before she returned to work at the Consulate. Fraser were incredibly thrilled because Ovitz also decided to return, having called in sick the previous two days. Fraser had arrived early, prepared to report and defend every one of the decisions he had made but, to his puzzlement, she had chosen not to call him in to see her. By one o'clock, he decided to take the initiative. Ovitz said she wasn't on the phone and had no one in her office, so he knocked on the door. No response. He knocked again. Still no response. He walked in and approached her desk. She didn't seem to notice; Thatcher continued to read a report and make notes, her glasses on.

"What is it, Constable?" she asked, annoyed, not even raising her head.

"Uh...I was just wondering, sir, if Inspector Hartfield made it safely to Australia."

"Yes, she did." Still she did not look up. "Bert called me last night to let me know. Elizabeth had her baby, a girl, six pounds and three ounces. They named her Kaevona Sassandra after their mother."

"Oh. And when will the inspector be returning?"

"Her flight back is through Atlanta. She won't be."

"And your flight, sir. How was it?"

That was the wrong thing to ask. Thatcher slowly removed her glasses, rubbed the bridge of her nose, and glared at him. "As you undoubtedly know, Constable, I have been gone for two whole days. Although the things I left on my desk were completed, Ovitz tells me he was able to get very little done, and now I have my work and his to complete. And it may shock you to know that chatting with you takes away from the time that I could be doing so. Do you really have nothing to else to do, Fraser, besides waste my time and annoy me?"

"No sir. I mean, yes sir..."

She reached into the top right-hand drawer of her desk and withdrew three computer disks. "Here, proof these reports for me." As he took them from her hand, she said, "Idle hands are the devil's...work..sh...Dismissed."

*****

Elaine had arranged for Huey or Ray to meet with all the detectives in charge of the ten male homicide cases that could possibly have been Dark Lords. Nothing new was revealed from the interviews; the cases that had been solved had had eye-witness and ballistics evidence to go on. Where there was no such evidence, there had been no arraignments.

No new bodies were turning up as the days passed, giving more and more credence to the gang-revenge theory. The boy Leah gave her money to, Jimmy T., had known nothing other than the amount of money to collect each week. His brother, J.C., made the HYCs sound more like a garden club than a gang. Autopsy reports came out on the two earliest victims, saying they had been first knocked out with some kind of blow to the back of the head, most probably by a fist, then their bodies had been beaten with a long, flat object (most likely a two-by-four), and finally, the knife had been inserted into the stomach so the person would bleed to death.

Ray went to court that Wednesday and missed no new information; there just didn't seem to be any. That next Thursday, Ray and Huey were taken off special assignment and the cases were moved to the back-burner. The eight homicides were labelled 'unsolved.' There was no closure for anyone involved.

*****

After his unsuccessful try a week ago at getting Inspector Thatcher to tell him about her trip, he had been inundated with work. She seemed to be able to sense when he would be done with one assignment and have five or six waiting for him. There was no time to do anything else, let alone talk to her. And Ovitz had it no better. Once Thatcher had read the time sheets and seen how much he'd been gone during her absence, she'd really laid it into him, too, only he'd gotten the yelling and screaming that he'd predicted for Fraser.

It was the final Friday in May, a real scorcher compared to what the weather had been like just a week ago. Then, a jacket had felt wonderful, now it felt oppressive. The air conditioning had finally been turned on in the Consulate so the doors and windows could be closed. It was extremely more pleasant inside than out. Fraser planned to eat his lunch at the diner, which was also air- conditioned, but offered a better view. Then Thatcher burst in. There was not a look of apology on her face. She had finally shed her mourning black and was back in a pink suit, but still, as she had every day, wearing her brooch. "Fraser, come on a walk with me."

"But sir, it's..."

"It's hot, I know, but I need to walk and I need you to come with me. Now let's go. That's an order."

"Yes sir." He followed her out of the Consulate.

"Take off your jacket, Constable. Roll up your sleeves. My idea of a walk is not for me to walk and you to suffer from heat prostration and be left on the sidewalk."

He slowly removed his brown jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

"There. Now let's walk." She set a brisk pace, rather too brisk for the heat. And it was nearing noon, so the sun was beating down. His luck, a day with no clouds. They walked around the block three times before she began to slow down and talk.

"I needed to apologize to you, Fraser, but I couldn't do it at the Consulate. I've been on edge since...I found out and it took me awhile to get my emotions sorted out. Michelle was very special to me. She was my only niece. All Phil and Liz's other kids are boys. And she was always the cutest little thing. She got away with murder because of it. She called me 'Auntie Meg' and could twist me around her little finger whenever she wanted. But I didn't mind. As a baby, I had a knack with her, able to get her to sleep and all. Then as she got older and I would visit them, she would always run to me, give me a big hug, and tell me how much she missed me."

They walked around the block once without talking before he asked a question. "Why do you wear your brooch every day?"

That made her laugh. "You know, Fraser, you're the first person to notice this! I guess Phil and Liz were too overcome to notice much more than my presence, but anyway, that's neither here nor there. This was my family's present to me when I graduated from high school. I thought it was the most beautiful thing and wore it whenever I could. Like most things, the novelty wore off after awhile and I just wore it occasionally. Then one year, Michelle was six or seven, I made the mistake of taking it with me to Saskatoon for a visit. They were going to take me out for dinner and I wanted to wear it with a scarf I had. I left it on top of the dresser in their extra bedroom with my earrings and necklace. While I was in the shower, Michelle came in and put all my jewelry on. Then, when she heard me coming out, she took it all off really fast and dropped the brooch, which caused it to break. I was soooo angry with her! Oh, I yelled and screamed and stamped my feet and all, but she contorted her face into the most pitiful look that I've ever seen. Tears came to her eyes, and it made me want to cry. She apologized again and again and again, drying her tears on my good dress. I forgave her and never mentioned it again.

"When she was twelve, Michelle mysteriously disappeared from Saskatoon. No trace. No one had seen her. Liz, even after the funeral, still believes that she was kidnapped. I don't know. She was only twelve. Could she have left on her own? And I have no idea how she made it to Chicago, or why she was in Chicago, or why she never contacted us. Phil has assumed the worst for years, but Liz kept some hope alive. I'd also given up. But every time I wore this brooch, I'd think of her and have a little hope that I'd see her again. And I did. So I guess I got what I asked for."

They walked around again and stopped in front of the Consulate, making it ten times around the block. He was about to open the door for her when she stopped in her tracks and looked at him for the first time since they'd started walking. "Will you be sure to offer my apologizes to Detective Vecchio for the way I treated him? It was really bad...I'm embarrassed when I think of it now." She paused. "And Fraser...Ben...I need to apologize for the awful way I treated you that night. I know you were only trying to offer a little comfort to me, but at that time, I couldn't handle it. I guess I was still in shock. It was too soon. I'm so sorry."

"That's quite alright, Inspector. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Then let me refresh your memory..." And, there on the sidewalk, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him passionately for quite a long time. Then she looked into his beet- red face and smiled brightly. "Now do you remember?" She took his wide smile as a yes.

*****

The birth had been very traumatic for Elizabeth, but not the baby. Elizabeth had been put to bed by the doctor and told to stay there for at least a week. It wasn't a hardship because she felt sick when she stood up, so being in bed was what she wanted. Jes had taken care of the baby and the house while she just rested and watched all the videos that Jes had brought her. When the baby was asleep, Jes would come and talk to her. Now it was a week later and Elizabeth asked about Chicago and seeing Meg again.

"Oh, Meg's doing fine. I got my pictures developed if you want to see." Jes got up and searched for her purse.

"Yes, I want to see this picture of Brendan Fraser you talked about. Did you get his autograph? Oh, I love his movies. 'Encino Man' is still my favorite, with 'School Ties' that you brought me a close second, and I love how he pops up in the Pauly Shore movies. Did you see 'Mrs. Winterbourne'? I haven't yet but I probably will soon. I'll pack Kaevona up and head to the video store."

Jes rolled her eyes. "No, 'Lizabeth, I said *Benton* Fraser, not Brendan Fraser, *Benton*. He works for Meg there at her Canadian Consulate in Chicago. See?" She got out the picture she'd taken in the car. "What do you think?"

Elizabeth's reaction was not expected. "Oh, he's *okay- looking*, not all that gorgeous. I think Kieren Perkins looks way better. Woo hoo, now there's a looker. And what's that on his head? A pelt? Did he get the Kevin Costner 'do that seems so popular with actors these days? Wow, I've spent this whole week imagining you met Brendan Fraser...isn't he Canadian too, after all?...I'm glad you didn't disappoint me until I was feeling better!"

* * *


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